Rekindling Spirits
by x.SodeNoZangetsu.x
Summary: Tribute for 9/11. It's been ten years since the attacks, yet Mac is still haunted and distraught from the loss of his wife. Can a visit from Stella remind him of the good that still exists in the world? Time can heal some wounds, but not all.


**We will never forget.**

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><p>.:Rekindling Spirits:.<p>

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><p>He sat unmoving in his chair, staring out at the vibrant city where he had spent much of his life, and reflecting on both the good memories and the bad that this city held. His office was dark and silent, and those who knew him well enough, knew the reason and knew he was best left alone for now. Had anyone been brave enough to enter his dwellings at this particular moment, they would have noticed his eyes glazed over and his lips in a firm line; he looked like a dam which was about to burst.<p>

Usually he was able to keep a cool composure, no matter how he was feeling. He was always hard to read, but on this one day in particular, he seemed to have trouble keeping himself glued together. On this one day each year, the walls he built around him came crumbling down. The reason was simple enough: It was on this day, ten years ago, when he had lost a vital thing in his life.

He had lost his wife.

He, as well as nearly three thousand others, lost a loved one in that nightmare; a nightmare that had put the land of the Proud and Free in turmoil for months, even years.

He blinked, and a tear slowly trailed down his cheek. The first spurt of water from the crumbling dam.

It was still so painfully vivid in his mind. Those 102 minutes were permanently etched into his memory as if some higher evil power wanted him to remember the day his life fell apart.

He still remembers the kiss he had given her as he left that morning before dawn had even broke. He still remembers driving to work with a smile on his face. She had promised to cook him his favorite dinner that night as a celebration of closing a big case at his work. He still remembers the crime scene he was at when he heard the low roar of a plane.

The roar of a plane that no one paid any heed to until it was too late.

He still remembers hearing the first plane hit and running outside to find much of Manhattan gasping in fear and shock and pointing at the north tower of the World Trade Center; now with a gaping hole in its side bleeding thick, black smoke.

From that point on, everything slowed to a sickening crawl.

He still remembers seeing the second plane approach the south tower. He still remembers the one and only thought that ran through his mind as the plane inched closer and closer to the second tower.

_Claire. _

He still remembers the fear that gripped at his heart as the second tower was closing in on its inevitable doom. He still remembers feeling so damn helpless it was killing him inside. His _wife_ was up there, yet all he could do was gawk like the rest of New York City.

Then he remembers the second crash, and the sound of metal and steel being ripped apart at a terrifying force and speed.

Then he remembers his mind screaming out her name in agony, knowing that it was too late. He was forced to watch the second tower crumble, his wife and thousands of others still inside. He remembers the pain that clawed at his heart repeatedly until it lay in a pile of shreds in his stomach.

Then he remembers the call from dispatch immediately calling all NYPD cops to be on the scene to help with search and rescue. He remembers climbing into his Avalanche and getting behind the wheel, all the while trying to keep the flood of tears at bay.

He remembers speeding down the streets of New York, doing all he could do to weave through stopped traffic—even driving on the sidewalk if he had to.

He remembers reaching the scene of the tragedy and jumping from the truck before barreling towards the destroyed building. All common sense had left him. All he could think was that he had to rescue Claire. He had to rescue all of them.

He remembers the voice that had called out for him to stop; the voice that had saved him from running straight into the wreckage as the north tower began to crumble. A hand grabbed his arm, keeping him from going any further.

He remembers pulling against the person holding him captive, shouting reasons he had to go in there; reasons that made absolutely no sense.

"Mac, what are you thinking?" he remembers her yelling at him. "You go in there, you're dead! There's _nothing you can do_!"

"Let go of me, damn it!" he had shouted back in vain. "I have to rescue Claire!"

"Claire is _dead_, Mac!"

He remembers collapsing to his knees, her hand moving to his shoulders. He remembers staring up at the sky, at the contrast of black smoke on blue sky.

"No," he muttered as ash continued to fall and flutter around him. "No."

A long silence consumed him as his hands ripped at the pavement beneath him, not ceasing until his fingers began to bleed and she pulled his hands away. He remembers the dam breaking and the first tear escaping. Soon, his body was being wracked with sobs, and he shook uncontrollably. Then he erupted.

_**"CLAIRE!"**_

He can still remember the pain that burned his throat as he screamed her name to the heavens that day, the continued crumbling of the north tower drowning out the sound of his agony. He can still remember the raw emotion that had been let out at that moment, as he felt a piece of him wither and die.

Then he remembers her arms wrapping around him and pulling him close, as if trying to shield him from all the horror. He remembers relishing in the comfort she brought. The smell of vanilla perfume filled his nostrils and through all the tragedy that morning and despite all that was to come, for a brief moment, he was able to feel a sense of peace.

September 11, 2011.

He found himself in the same place as last year and the ones before it. It was raining again; it had rained eight out of the ten years now. He stood stock still, one hand gripping the fence surrounding the museum built in memory of the attacks, the other stowed away in his pocket, a crumbled picture held firmly in his grasp. The rain matted his hair down to his face and he could no longer tell what were tears and what was rain drops marring his face. He looked above him, wanting to see the large metal structure looming above him to reassure him that everything was good once again.

Instead he was greeted with empty space, and a feeling of guilt and despair, just like the years before.

His head found the fencing and he leant into it, peering through the slits. Despite the new structure filling the void, in his mind metal beams still littered the ground, and things burned beyond recognition haunted his mind.

He heard a car door slam, followed by the light _tick_ of high heels and his grip on the fence tightened even more. She had come again, just like all the other years.

"Mac…?"

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She stood there with a worried expression—the same one she always bore—yet a look of understanding was present in her emerald eyes. She knew he had to be here, she was just here to make sure he didn't do anything reckless or stupid. He knew she would come, he should have been expecting it.

Yet he marveled at how she had traveled all this way just to be with him on this one day. They hadn't even talked on the phone in months, yet she had still come. He almost didn't believe it.

Jo sure wouldn't have done this for him.

"I thought you said you wouldn't wear your ring anymore?" she broke through his agony again, not even bothering with a hello.

He looked up at the offending gold band and swallowed a knot in his throat.

"I have to today," he whispered back, his voice a low rumble. "It's the only thing I have left of her."

He felt her step closer to him, though she made no attempt to touch him yet.

"That's not true, Mac. You still have memories, right?"

"Memories that are fading more and more each day," he replied bitterly.

Now he felt her squeeze his shoulders hesitantly—their first touch in a year—as she said, "It's been ten years; some things are bound to slip away." She let a moment of silence pass between them, almost like she was giving her words time to register in his brain. "You can't hold onto the past forever. I know you want to remember who she was, Mac, I do as well, but you can't keep every detail of her forever."

"But I want to," he said back, his voice taking on a pitiful tone. He knew he couldn't, he knew it could never happen, but he still wished it with all his heart.

"Well, what _do_ you remember?" he heard her ask him.

"Our wedding," he responded instantly, and a smile flickered over his face. "I remember the bliss I felt as I saw her walk up the aisle."

"See?" she said. "You still remember her."

_But, it won't last forever,_ he wanted to say. He refrained from doing so, however, knowing she was trying her hardest to make him feel better. He didn't want her trip up to be completely in vain. Instead, he simply nodded before sighing and settling into silence. They stood there like that for a while. He knew she didn't mind their lack of conversation because it happened every year. She would stand here with him, only speaking when he posed a question or said something completely ludicrous.

A question came to him then. One he didn't like thinking about, but always plagued his mind. He spoke.

"What do you think happened to her?" his voice cracked when the question became audible.

"Mac. . ." he heard her say behind him, warning him this wasn't a question that needed answering.

He, however, thought it was.

"No, I want to know," he said, his voice rising again, emotions starting to get the best of him. "What must've happened to her for them to not even find a trace. . ?"

"Mac, stop," she cried out to him, begging him to stop dwelling on the prospect.

He tasted the bitter salt and knew he was crying yet again. His hand rattled the fence as his body shook. He felt her slowly step between him then, and she wrapped her arms around him, doing the same as she had done on that fateful day, shielding him from the horrors of it all, shielding him from whatever he needed to be shielded from. A few seconds later, he responded, and he curled her slender frame in his arms.

"I miss her," he wept.

"I know you do," she told him. "I do, too."

"I wish I could've done something. I should've been able to protect her."

"There was nothing you could do, Mac," she told him like she did every year. "If you had gone in there, you would've died too."

He fell silent, but then, "I wish I had."

A tear that wasn't his fell onto his jacket and she held him even tighter in her arms.

"She didn't deserve to die like that."

"None of them did, Mac," she said, and he could tell she was trying to keep a calm composure. "I wish she hadn't died that way either. I wish she hadn't died at all; but don't ever say you wished you had died too. If you had, I would've lost not one, but two close friends in one day. I would've never known you as much as I do now. Nothing that's happened between us during the past ten years would have happened," she pulled him back to look at him, and tears were shining in those orbs of hers. "Do you wish you had missed out on all that?"

Memories upon memories suddenly came flooding through his head. From right before her leave, all the way back to when they had just met when Claire was still alive. Each one involved her and each one was greater than the last. She had pulled him through the months following the attacks. She had been the one making sure he ate, slept, and bathed, all the while trying to keep his morale up. She had been his light in his darkest hour. He knew he couldn't lose that, nor did he want to. Impulsively, his grip around her tightened.

"No," he finally responded. "I'm glad I was around for all that."

"Then don't say such stupid things," she scolded him with a smile.

"Sorry."

"And don't apologize either," she added, laughing slightly.

Her laughter was contagious, and he soon found a small smile had fluttered onto his face despite himself.

"Sorry," he said, somehow managing to pull himself together enough to joke ever so slightly.

She smirked and hit his arm playfully before taking it in her own.

"Now, come on," she said. "How 'bout we go get some lunch before you go back to work? We have a lot to catch up on. My treat?"

His smile grew. She really did know how to cheer him up. "Sounds great."

As they pulled away from Ground Zero that day, he looked back at it out the window. The clouds had parted above it and a beam of sunlight shone down onto the American Flag standing in remembrance below. He looked back to her briefly before looking back one last time and smiling.

_Claire, _he thought, _I won't ever lose the love I still have for you, and I know you would've wanted me to do whatever it takes to be happy again. Well, I think I know where that happiness lies now; it's been right next to me the entire time. Now, you can finally rest in peace and stop worrying about me._

As Ground Zero disappeared from his view, he turned back around; and only after he had settled into the cool leather of the seat did the storm clouds above him finally part for the first time in a decade.


End file.
